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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268355">Holding Hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost'>nothingeverlost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Knives Out (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:27:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“She’s at the hospital?”  He closed his eyes, almost able to feel her small cold hand in his as they sat in plastic chairs in a waiting room, waiting to hear a prognosis.  She wasn’t Fran, though.  It wasn’t the same.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Holding Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>At least partially a coping mechanism for current issues.  If you're avoiding Covid19 related things don't read please.  Takes place during the outbreak.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Benoit grinned when his phone rang.  It was Marta’s phone calls in the middle of the day that made his isolation bearable.  He was not a man well built for quartine, no matter how resolute he was to write a book, and no matter how many push-ups he did in his free time.  He couldn’t stand more than an hour of tv a day, and there was only so much news he could read before wanting to pull the plug on his internet.  A week ago Marta had called him during her break; hospitals needed extra help and of course she’d been one of the first to answer the call.  The first time she’d had an actual question about a subpoena she’d recieved, but after that the calls had continued each day at the end of her shift.  They had talked of nothing in particular and everything except the virus for a half-hour while she sat in a park and he sat in his apartment.  </p><p>“From my window I can see a flowering quince.  The whole bush looks like it’s on fire with the most vivid of red flowers.  I shall attempt to send you a photograph if my neighbor’s cat ever decides to move off the fence.  He is rather blocking my view.”  He liked to have some pretty thought ready when she called, a reminder that not everything was as grim as respirator shortages and sore feet.</p><p>“Is this Mr. Blanc?”  The voice on the other end of the phone was not Marta, though there was a similarity in tone and accent.  He looked at the display on his phone; it did say Marta Cabrera.</p><p>“It is. May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”</p><p>“This is Elena Cabrera.  We’ve never met but my daughter has spoken of you.”  Her voice broke, just for a moment, barely more than a pause to draw in a breath, but it was enough to give him a clue.  Benoit sat on the closest surface, which happened to be the edge of his bed.</p><p>“Something’s happened to Marta.”  Talking with Marta every day was a delight in its own right, but it was also an affirmation that she was alright.  Tired and sore and worried, but whole and healthy despite the risks compounding daily.</p><p>“She was going to stay home today because she wasn’t feeling well, but this morning she started coughing and couldn’t catch her breath.  There’s an oxygen tank at the house and she thought that might be enough but it wasn’t helping.  She needs a ventilator.”  </p><p>“She’s at the hospital?”  He closed his eyes, almost able to feel her small cold hand in his as they sat in plastic chairs in a waiting room, waiting to hear a prognosis.  She wasn’t Fran, though.  It wasn’t the same.</p><p>“She’s on her way.  We had to call an ambulance.”  For a moment there was no noise; he almost thought he could hear Elena’s heartbeat.  Maybe it was his own.  “I thought you should know.  Marta told me that you two had been talking.”</p><p>“You have raised a very intelligent daughter, Mrs. Cabrera.  A very kind and compassionate woman, not that I need to tell you that.  She is also strong.”  He was reminding himself more than her. “Thank you for calling me.”</p><p>“I have to go now, Mr. Blanc.  I don’t want her to be alone.”</p><p>“It’s Benoit, please, and if there is anything I can assist with please don’t hesitate to call.”</p><p>He spent a full minute staring out the window; from his seated position he could only see one flower on the bush.  The next minute he was on his computer, and relieved to find that despite so many businesses being shuttered he was still able to find a flight that left in a little over two hours.  He could be at Marta’s side by tonight.</p><p>He always kept a bag packed, never knowing when he might be called out on a case.  There were no plants to water, no pets to worry about.  He took a few minutes to find his copy of Chandler’s Farewell My Lovely because he’d told Marta about it, but other than that it was ten minutes from the end of the phone call to locking the door to the apartment.  He hadn’t been outside for three days, except for late-night runs.</p><p>The roads were virtually empty, an eerie sight that he was grateful for as he headed for the airport.  It only took him fifteen minutes to drive, which wasn’t an accident.  He traveled enough that proximity to the airport had been one of his apartment requirements.  Likewise he flew enough that it was worth his time to pay for TSA preferred.  He made it to his flight with time to spare.</p><p>There were only a few dozen people on the flight, everyone sitting in their own row unless they traveled together and the flight attendants wearing gloves and masks.  He was glad that the amount of conversation that was required of him was minimal.  Usually he was glad to talk to a neighbor or exchange pleasantries with the attendants.  Since the New Yorker article he’d even had a few requests for autographs.  Today, though, his only interest was on getting off the plane, as if his added focus could somehow make the plane land just a little earlier.  He politely refused a drink and pretzels.</p><p>The sky was just shading to dusk when he drove his rental car to the hospital.  It was the same place he’d been to before, the same place where Fran had died.  Marta wasn’t Fran, though.  She hadn’t been poisoned.  No one had tried to kill her.  No one he could fight, at least.  No enemy he could put his hands on and pummel to the ground.</p><p>“I’m looking for Marta Cabrera, please.”  </p><p>“I’m only allowed to give out information about patients to family members.”</p><p>“I am working with the police on an investigation.  Detective Blanc.”  If he thought he could have gotten away with calling himself family he would have, but he didn’t know if they would check with Marta’s mother.  Lieutenant Elliott, though, could probably be trusted to lie for him if necessary.</p><p>“Just a moment Detective.”  The nurse’s hand shook a little as she used the computer; too much coffee and not enough sleep was his guess.  She told him the room number and a moment later was answering the phone.  She probably didn’t hear his thank you.  Rather than waiting for an elevator he sprinted up three flights to stairs. </p><p>A woman who looked too much like Marta to leave any doubt that she was Elena Cabrera was sitting next to a hospital bed talking in a low voice.  The only other person in the room was Marta herself.  Benoit didn’t know how a twin bed could make anyone look so small.  He knew she was only a few inches below his own modest height, but in the hospital gown with blankets pulled up to her chest she looked delicate and too pale.  On her left a machine beeped with proof that her too-big heart was beating.  On her right a machine assisted with her breathing.  From the doorway he couldn’t tell if she was conscious.</p><p>“Can I help you?”  Elana Cabrera stepped around the bed, standing in front of it with all the fierceness of a mama bear protecting her cub.  She all but obscured his view.</p><p>“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I had hoped…”</p><p>“You’re Benoit Blanc.”  She tilted her head to the side, looking at him.  “I didn’t expect you to come here.”</p><p>He had been so focused on getting to Marta that it hadn’t occurred to him what it might look like when he showed up.  He had seen her a few times in the week after Ransom’s arrest, but then he had gone home, working two more cases in the past month before it had become obvious that he needed to stay at home.  They had talked about the case a few times over the phone.  Outside of this past week he wasn’t sure most people would call them friends even.</p><p>He couldn’t get her out of his head, not since that first moment he’d seen her foot bouncing on the floor, this woman with a kind heart so obviously grieving for a friend more than anyone in the Thrombey family grieved.  His first instinct, even after seeing the blood drop on her shoe, had been to protect her from a wake of vultures.</p><p>“I thought I might see for myself if you or your daughter needed anything.”  As if he’d just come across town to visit, not on a plane from eight states away.  “How is she?”</p><p>“They gave her something to help with the fever but she needed the ventilator to help her breathe.  She’s awake sometimes, but can’t talk.  You sit with her, I’ll go find another chair.”</p><p>“Please, let me go.  I did not mean to deprive you of either a chair or time at your daughter’s side.”</p><p>“I need to stretch my legs a little and get some coffee.  You’ll stay until I get back at least?”</p><p>“I’ll stay.”  He had no intention of leaving, not anytime soon.  After Elena left he dropped his travel bag in the farthest corner of the room.  He stopped long enough to take out a book before slipping into the only chair in the room.  Marta’s eyes were still closed.  Her hand rested against the blanket close enough that he could take it in his own if he dared.</p><p>“I believe I mentioned the other day a need to take care of yourself.  You said you were safe with your masks and your gloves.”  He had barely dared mention his concern for her safety.  “This is not what taking care of yourself looks like.”</p><p>An overwhelming need to touch her drove him into taking her hand.  It was cold, but her hand was always cold.  She wore sweaters even in the summer, she’d told him.  His own hand was far from cold and he wrapped it around her fingers, willing his heat into her hand.  His life force too, if need be.</p><p>“I hoped to see you again, but it was my intention to ask you to dinner.  Someplace nice, where I would hold out the chair for you and tell you how beautiful you looked.”  She always looked beautiful, even now with the medical tape on her cheek and the shadows under her eyes.  He wondered how much was being sick and how much was working too hard.  Would he ever get to see her when she was simply relaxed and happy?  “Truth be told I was working on an excuse to come up here.  It would have been only polite to call if I was to return to the area for a job.  Someone offered me a case in Connecticut and that’s practically next door.”</p><p>Marta’s eyelashes fluttered; he held his breath to see if she would open her eyes.  She didn’t.  </p><p>“You’ve had so many changes these last weeks.  I didn’t want to complicate things but dinner wouldn’t be too much, would it?”</p><p>“I’m afraid the only dinner she’s having today comes in an IV drip.”  A nurse, mask over her face and gloves on, came into the room.  </p><p>“How is she?”</p><p>“We’ve been able to bring down her fever, and that’s a good sign.  We’re pushing fluids, since there was some dehydration.  That could be the fever or it could be that she’s been worrying hard and not taking enough breaks for food and water.”  The nurse changed the nearly empty saline bag for a full one.  “If she fights half as hard for herself as she does her patients she’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Did you hear that darling?  You’re a fighter, and you need to beat this thing.”  When the nurse was gone he squeezed Marta’s hand, talking to her in a low voice.  </p><p>“I need…”  He needed her.  It was as simple and as complicated as that.  His life was a nomadic one, going where the cases called him.  The last time he’d sat beside a hospital bed had been more than ten years ago when he’d bid adieu to his mama, the last solid tie he’d had.  He’d dated occasionally but never anything serious enough to look at jewelry.  At some point he’d just assumed that he was past the age of considering marriage.</p><p>And then he’d met Marta.  He wanted everything with her. He wanted to pick up his entire life and move it to wherever she wanted to be.  He wanted to court her like she deserved, wanted to hold her hand, wanted to know what it was like to kiss her.  Now he just wanted her to breathe.  “You just keep fighting, like this blasted virus is Thrombey kin, you hear?”  </p><p>He spoke to her of the flowers he’d seen from the window of his apartment and the woman who walked her small dog every day no matter the weather.  Nothing of consequence, but talking was easier than silence.  When Elena returned she carried two coffees and offered one to him.</p><p>“I have sugar and powdered creamer if you need anything.  Someone will be in shortly with a second chair.”</p><p>“Black is fine, thank you.”  Reluctantly he let go of Marta’s hand and stood up.  “I do insist you take the chair, Mrs. Cabrera.”</p><p>“Elena please.”  She didn’t argue, collapsing into the chair.  “Did she wake up at all?”</p><p>“No, but the nurse was in to change the IV and said her fever is improving.”  He wanted to pace but only allowed himself to walk to the other side of the bed.  </p><p>“Thank God for that.”  Elena fingered a medallion hanging from a necklace.  “She was never sick very often as a child, not once we figured out her unique response to…”</p><p>“She is a very honest person who does not handle deception well.”  Honest.  Kind.  Perhaps it was the fact that she was so different from the people he met during the course of his work that drew him to her.  Or perhaps it was just her.</p><p>“She’s a good girl.”  Elena’s voice shook.  Benoit scrambled for something to say to help her steady herself.</p><p>“I bet you have a few good stories to tell about her childhood.  I would be indebted to you if you told me one or two; I do so love a good story.”  With perfect timing an orderly brought in a chair and he settled in.  “Nothing that would embarrass her, of course.”</p><p>“You and my daughter…”</p><p>“Friends, ma’am.”  For the moment it was the only truth, but that didn’t stop him from resting his hand over her fingers, keeping away from the IV needle at the back of her hand.</p><p>Elena told stories, and he added a few from his own childhood in exchange.  By the time the hospital was quieting down he was able to convince her that she should go home and get some sleep.  He could be trusted to sit with Marta.</p><p>“Where are you staying while you’re here?” She asked as she stood near the doorway, looking at her daughter and having trouble leaving.</p><p>“I am well used to sleeping in chairs.  I’ll get some sleep when I need it.”  Staying up for a couple of days wasn’t uncommon in his line of work.  </p><p>“When I come back in the morning you’ll go get some rest at our house.  Marta’s house.  You know there are plenty of rooms.”  She touched his arm, reminding him for a moment of his own dead mama.  “You won’t help her by exhausting yourself.”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am.”<br/>Benoit was four chapters into Fairwell My Lovely when he looked up to find Marta looking at him.  The book almost fell from his hold.  “Hey there sleeping beauty.”</p><p>When she struggled to speak he leaned in, touching her cheek lightly with his fingers.  “You have a ventilator, which is why you can’t talk.  Your mama was here with you all day but went home to sleep and report back to your sister.  You missed our phone call today so I thought I’d drop in and see how you were doing.  Everyone is fine.  You’re going to be fine.”</p><p>She looked confused, but he didn’t know if it was his presence that was the issue or her location.  “Do you need me to find a nurse?”</p><p>Slowly she shook her head.  </p><p>“Call your mother?”  Again a shake.</p><p>“I was reading that Chandler novel I told you about, shall I continue?”  The nod of her head was barely perceptible.  He settled back in, holding the book higher so he could look at her and the page.  His free hand touched hers and after the first few lines he could feel her squeeze his fingers.</p><p>It was three days later when the doctor decided that she was responding well enough to treatment that she should be able to breathe on her own.  He waited outside the room while they took out the tube, frowning at the coughing and listening for the sounds of breathing even though he was too far away to distinguish her breathing from anyone else in the room.  When he returned she had a cannulas in her nose for oxygen.</p><p>“You’re here.”  Her voice was raspy and dry.  It was the best sound he’d ever heard.</p><p>“Did you think I would make my exit without letting you know?”  In the last three days he’d only left the hospital twice, both times to sleep in a guest room of the former Thrombey mansion.</p><p>“No, I mean you came here.”  Elena quietly got up from the chair beside her daughter’s bed.  </p><p>“I’ll be back in a few minutes.  I need something,” she said vaguely.  Benoit moved closer to the bed.</p><p>“I couldn’t be anywhere else.  You mean a great deal to me, Marta Cabrera.”  It was as much as he dared to say.  </p><p>“I thought I dreamed you.  Your voice…” she coughed, seeming to have trouble catching her breath.</p><p>“I don’t believe anyone has confused me for a dream before.”  He held a glass of water for her, letting her take a small sip.  It seemed to help.</p><p>“I missed you.”  Her eyes closed for a moment but then opened again.  He could look at her eyes forever.</p><p>“I missed you too.”  There were a million other things he wanted to say but they could wait.  They had time.  When he sat down beside her bed she held his hand and for the moment it was everything.</p>
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